


Reaching Up, Reaching Out

by Wife_of_Bath



Category: Richard II - Shakespeare
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-16
Updated: 2013-04-16
Packaged: 2017-12-08 17:00:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/763817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wife_of_Bath/pseuds/Wife_of_Bath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The king is in the Underworld.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reaching Up, Reaching Out

There are times down here when I think about the old myths and tales. Do you remember? I read them to you while we lay in bed. My book was in Latin, a blessing since we barely understood one another then. We held hands, you touched my hair, and called me your Orpheus.

Orpheus.

Did you know? Did you know how true that would be?

Therefore, you must be my Eurydice. Yes, that is apt because Death came and took you away from me. Yet, I could not follow. I could not even try to bring you back. Should I have tried? Would you have even taken my hand? I like to think of you among the angels, with your beautiful hair loose and flowing down your back. You sing those strange lovely songs you sang to me or when you walked in the garden with your ladies. Now, no one looks oddly at you because all understand your words, and they are blessed. There are children with you, too, the little ones we never had and the ones we lost. When I imagine that, I know bringing you back to this earth would be fruitless because why would you even leave such bliss? 

Instead you call to me, and I do not follow.

You know I took another queen. It was only because I had to; our land needed a queen. She is a slim, delicate thing, and now she is gone too. There were no babes for her, either. I did not wish for there to be, truly. Why should she have what you could not? Was I cruel for doing that to her? Many believe me cruel. Perhaps I am. I miss you everyday. 

I found love among other men. It provided healing. I have always cherished beauty; you know that well. There are so many lovely things in this world, and I longed to be held, to be touched, to be loved, or at least admired, again. Do not think I was ever unfaithful to your memory, for my love for you has always been a precious, untouchable thing.

Orpheus is in the Underworld. In the darkness, he reaches out, seeking his Eurydice. His hand meets air. She has ascended. He is alone. He speaks to her, but she does not answer. He is alone indeed, lost in the pitch of night, and waits. What is he waiting for? Light or release? Both? Something else? He does not know, and so he sits, useless, without his lye or his tools and converses with the empty air.

Orpheus I am.


End file.
